Kasserine – Not Your Average Engineer

May 22, 2005July 1, 2020

A Weekend With Francesca

One fine Saturday I woke up at 4am and walked down the hill my house was perched on about 2 kilometers to the long-distance shared taxi station for the north and west of the country. I met my friend Francesca there. She’s from Oxford and speaks with a proper Oxford BBC accent. She majored in French Literature and is wrapping up a year worth of teaching English in Tunisia. As always, she was outfitted with a pink shirt and some Capri pants — this particular day in a military theme.

We found a shared taxi (louage) heading for Le Kef and hopped in. About three hours later we arrived in Le Kef (“the rock” in Arabic) about 40 kilometers from the Algerian border. We then found another louage heading for Tajarouine about 70 km farther south along the border. In this town we saw some really cool storks’ nests on top of the main mosque’s minaret. I took a couple of photos. Francesca got some coffee while I secured seats in the next louage. We had to wait for a while before the van filled up. The farther out into the countryside you get the longer you have to wait for transport. Our next destination was Khallat en Seina about 10 km from the Algerian border

Our first view of our final destination from Tajarouine.

In Khallat en Seina we walked up to the National Guard office to register our passports. This close to the border and in this small of a town such things are required — especially for what we were there to do. The first guy we talked to in the office spoke very good French. Francesca communicated with him. He took us to another office down the street where we waited about 10 minutes for his superior to come. This guy spoke almost no French but a lot of English. Very strange! He asked us if we had come with a tourist company. We told him no. He said to wait for a minute. He called up a friend of his who lives in a village about 10 km away who happened to be in town with his little put-put pickup truck. It was about a 1960 Renault pickup. Francesca, I, and the driver all piled in and we were off to his village. It was decided by the National Guard we’d pay 5 dinars for his services. At the village he found the site guardian for the site of our objective. This guy spoke no French and only a very heavily dialected Arabic that was more close to Algerian Arabic than Tunisian.

We came to this little village (Ain Senna, the well of senna) in the middle of nowhere on the Algerian frontier to climb a mountain called Jugurta’s Table, the last fortress of the Numidian king Jugurta in his long battle with the Romans. The mountain resembles a mesa with a large flat top and several hundred feet of sheer cliffs on all sides. There is only one approach to the mountain and only one way up — now guarded by a Byzantine era fortified gate. All around the base of the table there are rings of stone outlining former buildings from the Roman siege of the table and the later occupation by both Roman and Byzantine forces. There is still some evidence of a Roman road leading to the foot of the mountain.

We climbed up the steep steps cut into the living rock well worn with age. On top a tilted world unfolded. About one third of the top was covered with ruins of Numidian, Roman, Byzantine, and more recent construction. In the middle of it all there was a Marabout, the resting place for a holy man in the Sufist branch of Islam. We walked through the ruins to the Marabout. The guardian led us inside and showed us the tombs of two separate holy men that were arranged side by side. Nowhere else in Tunisia will they let non-Muslims inside a Marabout or mosque for that matter. He showed us where he sleeps every night to one side of the tombs. On special occasions the whole village comes up to have a feast and festival honoring their holy men.

Roman ruins on top of the table.

The marabout.

Our guide and Francesca walking off across the table.

From the Marabout we walked toward the west to observe some interesting rectangular cisterns cut in the rock. They were leftovers from the Numidians and the Roman siege of the mountain. There is no naturally occuring source of water on this rock. Farther along we came to the edge of the mountain. It was about a 250 meter sheer vertical drop. I got some good pictures peering over the edge. As we walked back toward the marabout we could see three people off in the distance on the other side of the mountaintop. We walked in that direction to see the other end of the mountain and to discover these three mysterious peoples identity. At the highest and most easterly jutting protrusion of the mountain we met three german tourists on holiday that randomly were on top of the mountain. Francesca spoke to them in French and I translated into Arabic for the site guard. He said it was the first time two groups of visitors were on the top at the same time in a very long time.

Numidian cisterns. It appears originally they were covered.

Looking toward Algeria.

Francesca with some wild mint.

Looking across the table toward the east.

It’s a very long way down. This would be a good place for base jumping or hang gliding.

The ruins of another Marabout. The site guardian explained to us that the holy man who had been entombed here was moved to the other Marabout. Generally, one holy man to every Marabout, but in this case, you get two for the price of one! Notice the Roman column incorporated into the structure.

Looking to the east.

We meet the German tourists.

The Marabout in the distance.

Before we went down off the mountain we examined a series of man-made caves near the stairs. It appeared that they were originally carved in pre-Numidian times to be used as funerary chambers then later reused during the siege to store grain and finally reused again during the Roman and Byzantine times as a necropolis of sorts. Now they’re being used for nothing. The guardian said that they extend throughout the entire mountain. I went a few feet into one and couldn’t see the end of it. A bit spooky!

The gate to Jugurta’s Table.

Looking up at the mountain.

Down at the base of the mountain we met up with the driver of the little pickup. He invited us to his place (in Arabic, as he barely spoke French) to have some lunch with his family. We all trucked on over to his house and sat down in his living room to have a meal of fresh honey comb, home made butter, and freshly picked apricots. It was all delicious. The eldest daughter, which actually wasn’t his daughter but a niece or a friend’s daughter spoke very good French. The family situation wasn’t exactly clear as there was a wife, two men, an old woman, a daughter at about 18, a son at about 12, and a son and daughter at around 5 plus another son in Tunis working. We feasted on this hearty lunch, talked with the family and looked at each others photo albums, then finally took our leave. On the way out they showed us their extensive bee hives and apricot tree. The cow was down the street.

Francesca feasting on Honey, Butter, and Apricots while watching the latest hits out of Lebanon on the Lebanese version of MTV.

The site guard, one of the children and Francesca.

The family, minus grandma.

The bee hives.

The apricot trees.

Back down in town we checked out with the National Guard, said our goodbyes to the put-put truck driver, and went down to the louage station. The two of us and two other people waiting in the louage decided to buy out the remaining seats (only an extra dinar or two a piece) so we could get into Tajaouine quicker.

In Tajaouine we found a louage headed for Kalaat Kasba. While we waited an either very drunk man or insane man came over and gave us each a piece of a half eaten donut. I left mine laying on a chair while Francesca ate up her bit. She’s a little odd like that at times. By this point I was also speaking in an oxford accent. We had to wait a bit for another louage to take us to Thala, a town about 50 km farther south. I guess that musical training comes in handy for some things.

Francesca eyes the road to Algeria.

On the ride down to Thala I sat next to a guy holding some tiles. It turns out he spoke some English. He was visiting a tile factory and had picked up the tiles for his shop down in Thala. In Thala he invited us into his shop, gave us free water and coke and helped us find the next louage to Kasserine, another 70 or so km farther south. He was very nice and was very happy to speak English with someone. He said we were the first English speaking people to come through in a very long time. Of course I had been in Thala only a few months before with Xiyun but I didn’t run into him then. Also back then it was snowing. This time it was threatening to rain from some major thunderstorms that were approaching.

The ride to Kasserine was uneventful. In Kasserine we found a louage headed to Gafsa but we were the only ones in it. We ended up having to wait about an hour to get enough people to be able to buy out the remaining empty seats. During that hour the heavens opened up and pounded us with an intense thunderstorm throwing bolts of lightning all around the louage station. One hit about 200 feet away from us at one point. It also poured rain.

Waiting inside the louage in Kasserine. Notice all of the religious things plastered to the inside of the vehicle to provide protection to the occupants. It seems to work. I survived many a louage trip in Tunisia none the worse for wear.

Standing under a tent in the storm with the louage driver waiting for some more passengers.

The last louage out of Kasserine.

On the way to Gafsa we encountered a major wreck on the highway. Most highways in Tunisia are a single lane in each direction with something of a stripe painted down the middle. This highway was no different. One of those little put-put trucks and a very large semi-truck hauling rock had a head-on. There wasn’t anything left of the cab of the put-put truck. At least three people and possibly more died instantly in that vehicle. The driver of the semi somehow survived and was being questioned by police as we passed. It happened about 30 minutes before we got there. There weren’t any bodies left to bury of the put-put driver and passengers. They’d have to bury the whole truck. One of the other passengers in the louage got out and found out some details. The put-put driver had been drunk and had his entire family with him. He swerved at the last second into the oncoming semi estimated to be going about 140kmph. There was nothing anyone could do.

In Gafsa we pulled into the Louage station and looked around for a louage to Tozeur, a town about 100 km farther south. None were to be had but there was a bus scheduled to stop in Gafsa in about 15 minutes that would go all the way to Nefta, our final destination. Some tootling around town and we finally found the location where the bus would pull up. While we waited Francesca ran across the street to a restaurant to get some sandwiches. We both were feeling a bit hungry.

The bus pulled up just as Francesca ran back across the street. We hopped on and were off to Nefta.

We finally arrived in Nefta at about 1030pm. It was very hot outside and a scaldingly hot and stinging sand filled wind was blowing from the northeast.

After some wandering in the Medina of Nefta we found the Hotel Habib (it means “Hotel of the Beloved”) and checked in. For the equivalent of about 5 USD per person we got a room with a shower and wash basin. The toilets were down the hall. The Hotel Habib was also the only bar in town. Luckily for us, it had already closed for the evening. The hotel staff was, however, fairly inebriated I pulled out my digital thermometer and checked the temperature on the window sill. It was 106 degrees and about 5% humidity! No wonder it felt hot! Mind you this is at 11pm! Total we had traveled across about 1/2 of the country in one day and logged somewhere around 500+ km.

The next morning we woke up at about 7am and hit the town. We saw the oasis and were led on a tour by a farmer whose plot we happened to tromp through. We gave him the equivalent of a dollar in tip for the tour. He showed us around for two hours. He was very happy that we spoke Arabic. Evidently not very many tourists come through this town.

The view from our hotel room.

“The Basket” of the oasis where the water source once was. Since the late 1960’s, the people of Nefta have been boring deeper and deeper wells to access the underground water more effectively. In the process, they managed to dry up all of the springs!

A beautiful daffodil we saw in the oasis. Anyone have any idea what variety this is? I’ve never seen it before.

After the tour we popped up into a neighborhood above the oasis and found a coffee house for Francesca’s daily cup of joe. From there we walked back to the louage station to catch a louage to Tozeur. The thing that really struck me about Nefta was how flirty all of the girls and women were there. They all initiated eye contact with me and then tittered to their girlfriends about it. I can assure you that nowhere else in Tunisia does this happen. It was rather refreshing.

On the way to Tozeur we got a message from Francesca’s work saying they needed her in Tunis early on Monday. To make sure she got there in time we hopped into another louage immediately in Tozeur to go back to Gafsa to find a louage to Tunis. In Gafsa we found our louage and had to wait about an hour before it filled up and took off. While we waited one of the guys that I had talked to on the bus the night before hopped in. He was on the way to Tunis too! We started talking in Arabic and soon the whole louage was talking to me in very fast heavy dialect Arabic that sounded more like Algerian than Tunisian. It seems I always end up either being associated with Algerians or mistaken for an Algerian! The trip back was nice talking to all of the guys in the louage. A couple of the guys got into a competition over Francesca as to who could give her better snacks and treats. It was pretty funny.

About half way to Tunis, outside Kairouan, we stopped for lunch at a roadside stand. We had a very spicy couscous. It was very good. I amazed the guys in the louage by eating two of the hottest peppers in existence in Tunisia without any problem and only in a couple of bites. I didn’t even sweat.

Lunch break.

The driver is sitting next to me.

Francesca and one of the other passengers.

We finally arrived in Tunis after about five hours on the road. It was about 6pm. Francesca headed back to her place and I headed to mine. It had been a very adventuresome weekend. 1000+ kilometers from the top of Tunisia to the edge of the Chott and the Great Sand Sea.

May 10, 2005July 1, 2020

Makthar

On the same weekend as my Kerkennah foray, I also visited Makthar 300 kilometers and two louage rides away. I was very lucky to get to Makthar at all without being stuck in Kairouan or some other point in between as it was already rather late in the day, having spent most of the day in Sfax at the Libyan consulate trying to arrange for a visa to travel to Libya. That visa never did happen although I was vigorously informed by all of the Libyans I met how much they loved America and Americans and how good of friends Kadafi and Bush are. Too bad all that friendship and love didn’t get me a visa. One of these days I’ll make it to Libya. One of these days…

Anyway back to Makthar. I finally made it to Makthar at around 5pm. It took me about two hours to tour the entire site from top to bottom. It seems Makthar rarely gets tourists. It’s rarer still to see a single lone American male that speaks arabic out there. As I looked through the excellent little museum at the site the National Guard was scrambled to provide security for me at the site. They dropped off several men to clear the entire site of old women harvesting Esparto Grass and their very young grand kids playing at their feet. I was assigned a guard named Mohammed for the duration of my visit who followed me around from about 20 paces at first.

Mohammed was very shocked to discover that, in fact, I could speak his language and that, yes, I was interested in talking to him. It turns out that Mohammed is about 27, from somewhere near Hammamet on the coast, has been in the National Guard since he turned 20, and lives in the National Guard Barracks at Makthar for 30 days at a time with about 5 or so days off every month to go back and visit his family. I asked him about transportation options to get out of Makthar, where, as the guidebooks put it, the only hotel was also the brothel (Mohammed confirmed that), and get to a larger town with a few hotels. Mohammed said that there weren’t any more louages that day and that he didn’t think there were any busses but he would love for me to stay with him in the barracks that night and we could share a meal with a family he knew in Makthar etc etc… I might have accepted him on his offer but I really wanted to get to Le Kef in order to make a bid at seeing another site the next day.

In the end, the site manager showed me where the bus stop was and said that there should be a bus to Kasserine where there were at least a few hotels at some point that night. He gave me his telephone number and said if the bus didn’t come, which sometimes happened, to call him and I could stay with his family for the night. I ended up catching that bus to Kasserine.

I got to the main bus and louage depot in Kasserine at dusk. All of the louages had already left for the night. The nearest hotel, the prison-like youth hostel, was over three kilometers away and the taxis looked hungry. I asked a man at the station if there were any more busses that night. In fact, there was one bus that would depart in two or three hours, and for all places, Tunis! I decided to take this bus.

I settled down for a several hour wait outside the bus station in Kasserine. Over the course of those few hours the stars came out, some soldiers came to wait for the bus, and the little cafe run by a man and his Downs-Syndrome plagued assistant closed down for the night.

At about 10pm one of the men sitting next to me asked for the time, in Arabic. I was wearing my little black skull cap that I bought in Tunis to keep my ears warm. We soon struck up a conversation that carried on for a good 30 minutes until the bus showed up. As we were getting ready to get on the bus he said (in Arabic) “So… You aren’t from Tunisia, are you? You’re Algerian!” and I said, much to his utter astonishment “No, I’m American.” He sat in the front of the bus and I never saw him again. I sat in the back of the bus with the soliders on their way to Tunis. I paid my fare, settled into my seat, pulled my cap down over my eyes, and drifted off to sleep to the reassuring roar of the diesel bus engine.

Around 1 AM I briefly regained consciousness to realize that we were entering Le Kef. I didn’t realize that the bus ran through Le Kef. Instead of making the straight shot to Tunis, we got the scenic night tour of a good chunk of the upper part of the country. I drifted back to sleep.

Something was jabbing my face. What was all that noise? Light suddenly flooded into my vision as my cap was pulled up above my eyes by the muzzle of a loaded AK-47. Sounds became clearer. Things came into focus. An overzealous National Guard officer had an AK-47 pointed squarely between my eyes and was shouting at me in Arabic something along the lines of “Okay you Algerian scum! Show us your papers or your head will go missing!”

I fished the photocopy of my passport out of my left pocket and handed it to the officer. He stormed off the bus after collecting a few other passengers identifications. After a few minutes he came back on and asked, in French, for my passport. I handed him my passport. He was visibly shaken when he saw the golden eagle stamped in the cover with the words UNITED STATES OF AMERICA neatly typed underneath. Evidently not very many foreigners from outside the Maghreb and certainly not very many Americans ride the night bus to Tunis.

He left again. After about ten minutes a different and more senior officer came onto the bus and started handing back ID’s. Mine was the last. He said “Enjoy your stay in Tunisia” to me in French. I put my passport back in my pocket, pulled my skull cap back down over my eyes and went back to sleep as the bus pulled away from the roadblock.

Again I felt something jabbing into my face. It was cold and felt like steel. More light. Oh not again. As I feared before I even opened my eyes or made a clear distinction of the sounds around me, I was staring down the barrel of another AK-47 being pointed at my temple by yet another fine officer of the Tunisian National Guard. Again, he yelled at me in Arabic. This time it was something like “Give me your papers! Algerian! Wake up or die! Give me your papers!” I handed him my passport straight off this time, not wanting to delay the bus any more than necessary. The AK lowered very fast when he saw that blue passport with the golden lettering and seal. He seemed a bit bemused by his recent assumption that I was an Algerian. He left the bus.

Ten minutes later he came back on the bus and handed me back my passport saying nothing. I looked out the window as we pulled away. Across the road a small 1970’s era Renault R4 pickup was pulled over to the side with three people standing outside in the glare of the headlights of a large National Guard land cruiser. A guardsman had a rifle trained on the little group while another radioed back to headquarters with a whole stack of papers laid out on top of the hood of the land cruiser. In the back of the pickup several dozen sheep waited quietly. It seems I wasn’t the only one getting the full treatment that night. I drifted back to sleep.

I woke up with a start when the bus engine died. I pulled my cap up and peaked outside the window. A few small streaks of orange blazed across the sky. It was about 4:30 AM. I had no clue where we were. I asked one of the military men sitting near me where we were in Tunisian dialect Arabic. This was the first time I had spoken since I got on the bus. Never during the two muzzle incidents had I uttered a word. The man stared back at me, not comprehending his own mother tongue. I asked again followed quickly by asking in French if he spoke Arabic. He suddenly realized that, in fact, I spoke Arabic. A grin broke out across his face and he told me “We’re in Tunis at the Bab Saadoun bus terminal.” I said thanks and told him good morning. I got off the bus and walked the four kilometers to my house as dawn broke over Tunis.

It had been an eventful weekend.

The amphitheater.

The Forum.

A triumphal arch on the other side of the Forum. This is where I met Mohammed.

A Roman board game found at many of the Roman sites in Tunisia.

The main baths complex.

Burial chambers from Numidian times. It appeared they had been reused during Roman times as storage rooms.

A public plaza. Maybe another Forum was built here or maybe this was the market or maybe there are temples waiting to be discovered around the perimeter. Much archeological work remains to be done at Makthar.

All roads lead to Rome.

A smaller baths complex.

Some old women harvesting esparto grass for use in basket and mat making that escaped detection by the National Guard. Mohammed kept a close eye on them as I passed by. They obviously were an imminent threat to my safety and security.

The remains of what appears to be either a stone play-pen for a toddler or a flower planter.

A parting shot across the waving fields of esparto grass.

February 27, 2005November 15, 2021

Haidra with Xiyun

We talked with several louage drives trying to figure out which louage we needed before finally finding one that would take us to Tajerouine where we’d get another louage to Kalaat Khasba where we could get another louage to Hadria, our real destination. First we rode in a standard red louage to Tajerouine. It was uneventful. Then in Tajerouine, it took us a bit of work to find a blue louage to take us out to Kalaat Khasba. We finally did, and after about 30 minutes of waiting, took off to there. I had never ridden a blue louage before this. It was a very interesting experience. People got in and out on this guy’s route as we went past their destinations. We were let out at the crossroads just outside of Kalatt Khasba and told to wait there for a yellow louage that would take us to Hadria.

At this point some guy came over to us who spoke some bad French and said he had been to France once, and started trying to convince us to go to a cafe with him for some coffee. We politely declined and finally were successful in flagging down a yellow louage. We jumped in, being the only two passengers on board, and began talking with the driver about how much it’d be. The dude that tried to get us to go to coffee suggested in Arabic to the driver that we should pay five dinars. I hadn’t tipped my hand yet that I understand and speak some Arabic. At this point I broke out into a long series of exchanges with the driver and the other guy. Finally I got him to take us out there for two dinars. The guy didn’t look to happy because he just had lost his commission and the driver told him to stop hassling tourists. The driver seemed to be pleased that I spoke some Arabic and stood up for the right price.

We got dropped off at the ruins of Hadria, just outside the town of Hadria which is little more than a border post on the Algerian frontier. There were some guys standing around which we took no notice of, knowing that they’d want to guide us for a fee. I knew the site was free so we ignored them and ran off into the ruins to the nearest baths complex. We proceeded down to a vandal church where a guy in a Burnous came up to us on a moped and asked who we were, where we were from, where we were going, and what we were doing. He said he was from the National Guard. After we told him, he took off into town on his little put-put bike. We continued wandering around the site, this time heading northward toward some more churches built by the Byzantines. At this point, a National Guard 4×4 pulled up. Pretty soon, a guy in a very official uniform walked over to where we were, asked to see our passports, and told us to have a nice day. He went back to the 4×4, got in with two other guys, and sat there to watch our progress. As we were very close to the frontier and in an area where just a few years before foreigners were being abducted and killed at an alarming rate, the National Guard wasn’t messing around.

Next stop, Algeria!

Part of the forum and capitol.

Baths complex.

Fallen arches.

Byzantine Era Church. The site is littered with them.

Another church.

Column girl.

The theater. Note the similar construction to the one at Bulla Regia.

Triumphal Arch on the road to Carthage. Notice the stones enclosing it. This was used as part of the defenses for the town during Byzantine times. The Byzantines constructing a fort around the arch is the reason it’s so well preserved.

The statues are missing. No doubt work of the Vandals.

Orange time!

Yet another church.

A Numidian mortuary. Notice the square shape and portico. This one is amazingly well intact except for the hole blown in the base by treasure hunters.

Oued to Algeria. It’s been raining a lot in Tunisia lately and the Oued showed it.

Part of the ruins are being eaten by the Oued. The Romans had built an incredible retaining wall system to keep this from happening but no maintenance for 1500 years and look what happens!

The Byzantine Fort. It’s the largest one in Byzantine Africa. There are something like nine watch towers and at least three churches contained inside.

The end of a large water channeling system that covered over a smaller Oued and allowed the Romans to build on top of it. This is also the bridge for the road from Carthage to Algeria.

A rare octagonal column.

There used to be a bridge here spanning the Oued and heading south to another Roman town. Now some blocks remain in the Oued and the original road can be seen on the other side of the bank. The modern road is built on top of the original Road.

The modern road has to ford the Oued. The Roman road had a bridge. I think the Roman road was better.

An uneven doorway. It’s Byzantine era at the bottom of a watchtower built in the middle of the fort and at the end of a church. It’s the only example that I’ve ever seen of a door that was blatantly un-rectangular. Anyone have any ideas as to why?

Another church.

Bones and garbage in a sarcophagus.

The Roman road to Algeria.

What appears to be the Byzantine equivalent of the funerary containers at Utica where baby remains were housed. These funerary boxes appear to be late Byzantine era. I’d hazard a guess that they were for all ages, not just children.

This piece of marble came from very far away. Probably Greece or maybe even further east.

Rubble piles from where the walls fell.

We finally finished up the site, being very wet, cold, and tired, and headed back up to the main road. The National Guard saw that we were done, started up their 4×4 and started driving back into town. We flagged them down and asked where the louage station was in town. They laughed and told us to climb in. We crammed into the back seat with one of the guys and got a ride for a few kilometers into town with the National Guard of Tunisia. They had big assault rifles in the luggage space in the rear of the vehicle just in case they had to do battle with insurgents unexpectedly.

They helped us find a louage that would take us to the town of Thala where we could get another louage to Kasserine and finally a louage all the way back to Tunis. I think we were the first tourists that they had seen in quite a while at the site. They seemed rather perplexed by our presence but happy nonetheless to have something to do for a change. One of the guards even spoke pretty good English. He was probably originally from Hammamet and now was stationed on the Algerian frontier in this godforsaken border post. What a job!

The louage filled up fairly quickly and we took off to Thala.

The Roman ruins in Thala. The entire town lies on top of ruins. The main square is the only portion of town that has been excavated. I wonder what lies beneath the rest of the town?

We asked around a bit in Thala and finally found a Louage to Kasserine. Unfortunately, there was only one seat open. There was some hmming and hawing and then it was decided that we should go in the next louage out of Thala. There was a drunk guy that spoke English that was kind of wandering around and begging for money for more alcohol. He hassled us a bit at first when we tried to get into the first louage. We got into the second louage and sat there, shivering. Pretty soon, this drunk guy comes over and gets in next to us and starts talking to us in slurred French, Arabic, and English. He was rather drunk and his breath smelled rather bad. Pretty soon he pulled out a bottle of what he was drinking to show us. In French it said “Burning Alcohol”. I believe that’s the same as Rubbing Alcohol in English which I am fairly certain is poisonous. Well I suppose he didn’t have much else better to do with his life.

Finally, the louage driver came back over, shooed him away, and moved the louage to a better position. At about this time, it started snowing. At first there were flakes mixed in with the rain, but before too long it was a major blizzard. Here comes the drunken guy again. This time he almost had no English left and his French was barely understandable. Another guy got in the louage up front and told him to go away. Finally, yet another guy, this one maybe about 23, came and kicked him out and sat down next to us. He sat there for a bit until the drunken guy wandered off then got out to buy a few things. I hopped out to get a picture of the snow. What a shot! Louages, roman ruins, a Tunisian town, Tunisians standing around with snow accumulating on their bernooses, and snow falling from the sky! Who would believe it!

Yes, that’s right! It’s SNOWING!

The louage filled up and we were underway. Xiyun bummed a cigarette from the guy sitting next to me and we chatted him up. He was a solider in the National Guard stationed in Sbeitla. He lives in Thala though and commutes in once a week to the base and the barracks there. He seemed like a nice fellow but was a real chain smoker. As we climbed up higher and higher to go over the pass to Kasserine, the snow started accumulating on the sides of the road. It looked like there were a couple of inches at the top. Just over the other side, it stopped snowing, warmed up, and cleared up. It wasn’t warm by any means but at least it was a little better. This was a blue louage and as it was a blue louage, we stopped many times to let people on and off. It was amazing seeing where these people were getting out. There was literally nothing around except for a small red brick hut maybe two kilometers from the road and a guy would get out in a business suit and start walking across the fields toward it!

The oddest thing by far we saw though was the crosswalks. There was nothing around for a good five kilometers. Suddenly, there’d be a freshly painted crosswalk in the middle of the road. Obviously the highway maintenance crew had extra paint and nothing to do for a few days. We looked around to see if maybe there was a foot path crossing the road there but there was absolutely nothing for kilometers.

We finally pulled into Kasserine around 4pm. There were two little girls wandering around begging for money. Some people were giving them money while others were telling them to go away. When they came over and tried to use their sorry eyes on us I told them forcefully to go away. It was obvious that they were well fed and taken care of and only put on the rags and got dirt on their faces to go beg. I bet that their mother or father was sitting in the cafe watching them while sipping on a warm drink. Those two girls were making good money too! I watched them make about two dinars in a mater of three minutes outside of the louage that we found to Tunis.

Finally, our louage filled up and we pulled out of Kasserine. We had thought about going to Sbeitla to check out the ruins there but decided not to because it was getting late and we were hungry. Also, transport was quickly drying up and we didn’t want to get stranded somewhere. We were sitting in the way-back and what a comfortable way-back it was. On the way out of Kasserine, we were pulled over by the police for an inspection of the luggage space to make sure no one was hiding back there. After a thorough inspection, we were allowed on our way.

About a 1/3 of the way back, we stopped off at a roadside stand selling all forms of food. The driver got out and got something akin to a hot pocket. Xiyun and I bought a half dinar of Makaroth which ended up being about a kilo worth. The guy didn’t bother measuring it out too carefully. He just sort of scooped and dumped it into a bag for us. We feasted on them, being very hungry, before we took off once again toward Tunis. Xiyun nearly went crazy on the ride back. It took us about four hours total to pull into the southern louage station after a long and treacherous ride through the dark.

It was about 830 when we pulled into the station. We walked out, went down to the big road nearby, grabbed a cab and made our way to Avenue Bourguiba and the Restaurant Sfax where we had some Couscous, salad mischuea, and some spaghetti. I couldn’t eat very much for some reason. Probably because I hadn’t eaten much for the past 24 hours and my stomach had shru nk. Instead, Xiyun ate most of it.

We got to Xiyun’s place at about 930pm. I grabbed my laptop and external hard drive which I had left at her place on Saturday, said goodbye, and headed home. It had been a good trip. We ended up spending right on 150 dinars for two people for two days. Considering everything we saw, we did pretty well!